


All We Have

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Nerd Harry, So basically, Unrequited Crush, based on the song grown, but louis didn't know he existed, but then, harry had a crush on louis, requited crush deffo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He looks at the person who’s asked him a question and then immediately wishes he hadn’t. He’s beautiful, is the thing, and Harry’s met him before. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“No, sorry,” he says, shaking his head, averting his eyes. It’s an old habit, one he’s gotten better about resisting, but he supposes seeing Louis Tomlinson out in the wild transports him right back to youth club. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Ah, s’fine really,” Louis says, instead of just walking away like a normal person, “Pretty boy like you shouldn’t be smoking anyway, yeah?” </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Harry’s cheeks flood with heat before he can stop it, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Of course. Of course Louis Tomlinson — the boy who basically made Harry realize he’s gay — thinks he’s cute now. Ten years after the fact, and much too late for it to do any good at all.</i><br/>Or, a 'Grown' au</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Have

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloria_andrews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_andrews/gifts).



> hellooo!!! this is for the wonderful addy, who always listens to my fic ideas and makes them even better and who is a delightful presence in my life. love you!!!! 
> 
> this fic is based (VERY LOOSELY) on little mix's 'grown' which is the best song in the world and you should all listen to it. none of it is real. please don't show anyone even remotely connected to the boys. 
> 
> enjoy and thanks!!!

The cold wind bites at Harry’s cheeks as he steps outside the pub for a breath of fresh air. It’s crowded in there, almost stifling with how many bodies have packed in to avoid the cold and Harry’s not sure how much more he can handle. He’s been elbowed more times than he can count, had so many drinks spilled on him that he’s had to take off his argyle jumper and his hair’s gotten so sweaty that he’s put it back in a bun. 

Even after all of that, he felt too claustrophobic to try and stay in there another minute, so he’d told Veronica he was going for a bit. She’d nodded and given him a reassuring smile. She knows how he gets, and while Harry had worried at first when he told her that sometimes he gets overwhelmed, she never makes him feel stupid or like a burden or like a baby. She just nods like she understands and lets him go. Sometimes she goes with him, and they’ll stand outside in silence while Harry pretends he isn’t about to have a panic attack because there’s too many people around. 

Tonight she’s stayed in, though, because there’s a blond bloke named Niall chatting her up and Harry knows she hasn’t gotten any in awhile. He knows that in great detail, the kind of detail he wishes he didn’t know, actually. 

Harry leans up against the brick wall and crosses his arms over his chest, wishing he had his jumper but being unwilling to go back for it. The sea of people is still too much for Harry to bear, so he’ll freeze out here a while longer. It’s fine. It gives him time to plan out his gift wrapping strategies for the next day. With only a week until Christmas, Harry’s really cutting it close with how unprepared he is. By this time last year, all he needed to do was make some Christmas themed biscuits to take around to his neighbors. He’s still got to wrap his presents and finish decorating his flat for his annual holiday party and make his holiday treats. It’s a lot to do in a week, and he’s not really sure how he let it get to this point.

“Hey, mate, got a smoke?” 

The voice jolts him back to the present, and he looks around for a moment, confused. Where is he? Pub, right. Outside the pub, which is why he’s so cold. He looks at the person who’s asked him a question and then immediately wishes he hadn’t. He’s beautiful, is the thing, and Harry’s met him before. 

“No, sorry,” he says, shaking his head, averting his eyes. It’s an old habit, one he’s gotten better about resisting, but he supposes seeing Louis Tomlinson out in the wild transports him right back to youth club. 

“Ah, s’fine really,” Louis says, instead of just walking away like a normal person, “Pretty boy like you shouldn’t be smoking anyway, yeah?” 

Harry’s cheeks flood with heat before he can stop it, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Of course. Of course Louis Tomlinson — the boy who basically made Harry realize he’s gay — thinks he’s cute now. Ten years after the fact, and much too late for it to do any good at all. 

“Suppose not,” Harry chokes out, rubs a hand over his mouth and looks away. He wants desperately to go back inside, to find Veronica and his jumper and leave, but there’s so many people in there still and Louis is blocking the door. Harry would have to physically touch him to get past him, and he can’t handle that. 

“Y’alright, love?” Louis asks, leaning against the brick. He’s being so obvious in his flirting that it’s nearly painful, makes Harry want to shout _I know you, don’t you know me_ at him, but that would only serve to humiliate Harry further, so he doesn’t. Besides, what if Harry mentioned it and Louis didn’t remember? That may be even worse. 

Louis shifts next to him. “Do I know you from somewhere? Your face —” 

No, just kidding. The possibility of Louis remembering Harry from youth club — his overeager smile, his blatant adoration of Louis and the way Louis brushed him off time after time and Harry couldn’t take a hint — is much worse than Louis not remembering. Much, much worse. 

He pushes past Louis without a word, cringing at Louis’ angry “Oi, mate, watch it!” that follows him as he wrenches open the door and pushes inside, making his way through the crowd to get back to his table. He sits down heavily in his chair, rubbing a hand over his mouth. God. Louis Tomlinson. The last Harry heard, he’d left for university in London and didn’t plan on coming back to the north. Harry doesn’t want to know what he’s doing in Manchester. 

“Harry, babe,” comes Veronica’s voice, concerned and gentle. “Y’alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Harry barks out a laugh and looks at her, only to feel his eyes widen and his heartbeat kick up in his chest. There, standing next to Niall and muttering something into his ear, is Louis. Again. 

_I’ll never fucking escape_ , Harry thinks, and grabs his jumper and stands. 

“I’ve got to go,” he says to Veronica, keeping his voice low, trying not to alert Louis’ attention. “I’ll call you later, yeah?” 

Veronica frowns at him but nods, giving him a concerned look before hugging him. Harry lets himself melt into it for a moment, eyes closing with relief. Veronica’s got an energy about her that calms Harry down somehow. He doesn’t really understand it, but he’s thankful for it. He opens his eyes, pulling away and kissing her on the cheek. She pats his chest, and he smiles at her. 

When he pulls his gaze away from her face, he sees Louis right over her shoulder, staring right at him. He can see the moment Louis remembers, the way his head tilts and his eyes get a funny sort of light to them. 

“I know you,” he seems to say, but Harry can’t hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. 

He turns and runs out of the pub as quickly as he can. 

—

“So,” Veronica says on Monday, sitting herself on Harry’s desk. He pushes his glasses up and looks at her, steeling himself for whatever interrogation she’ll bring on. It’s going to be terrible, probably. “You got out of there pretty fast on Saturday.”

Harry waits for her to say something else, but she doesn’t. “Guess so,” he says, clicking on random icons on his desktop, just so he won’t have to look at her. 

“Seemed pretty freaked out,” she says, and Harry responds with a noncommittal hum and opens his anti-virus program. 

“Harry.” Veronica puts her hand over his on the mouse. Harry’s cheeks burn red as he meets her eyes. “You don’t have to tell me the story,” she says, always so much more kind and gentle than Harry deserves. “But I’m here, if you want to.” 

Relief seeps into Harry’s shoulders and he sighs. It’s just that he’s never really told anyone about it. Not even Gemma. She knows bits and pieces, of course — having lived through it and witnessing Harry’s humiliating display firsthand — but never the whole story. Not that there really even is a whole story to tell. Harry had a crush and Louis wasn’t interested. Harry knows he’s being over dramatic about it, but Louis showing up just reminds him of how awkward he was and how much he’s tried to distance himself from everything that happened. Because while Louis didn’t do anything overtly mean while he was there, how he treated Harry set the stage for the entire span of his teenage years. The general dismissal of anything Harry had to say, the comments whispered to other people while Harry was speaking, the general distaste for how he dressed and acted. Well, that last one wasn’t so much started by Louis, but the other things — 

Look, it’s not that Harry _blames_ Louis Tomlinson for his teenage years being shit, it’s just that Louis reminds him of a time that he’d really rather forget all together. 

“It’s stupid,” Harry tells her, rubbing a hand over his face. “Like, really stupid. I totally overreacted.” 

Harry can feel the look Veronica gives him before he looks at her, shrinking in his seat when he finally does. She looks unimpressed, less gentle than before but not mean. Just like she’s annoyed with Harry’s stalling, which is fair, he supposes. He is stalling a bit. 

“The bloke you were will, the blond one,” he says, “his friend um. I knew his friend.” 

“Okay,” Veronica says slowly, like she’s waiting for him to get to the point. 

“I had a crush on him, okay?” Harry throws his hands up. Still being dramatic about it, obviously, but he doesn’t know how to stop. “I just — I was arse over tea kettle and he hardly knew I existed, and I’m embarrassed about it, alright? I was sixteen and the most obvious thing in the world and it stings when someone you wanted so much is only interested ten years later, okay?” 

Veronica’s face goes through a lot of expressions that Harry doesn’t have time to focus on and decipher before it lands on a mix of amused and sympathetic. “He hit on you?” 

Harry sighs. “Yeah. At the bar, when I went outside. Didn’t even remember me.” 

“Oh, babe,” Veronica says, and pulls him into a hug. Harry goes gratefully, resting his head on her shoulder. She pats his back a few times, staying silent before, “I would’ve fucked him and left, just to teach him a lesson.” 

Harry snorts. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he says, and Veronica shrugs. 

“I’m just saying.” She lets him go and slides off his desk, adjusting her skirt. The whole office thinks they’re fucking, he knows. He wishes they didn’t, but he’s also long past the days of giving a shit about what other people think. Besides, Veronica’s too much woman for Harry anyhow. And he really doesn’t like to think about her….sexually. 

“If he’s half as good as his friend was,” she says, slinking out the door, “then it would’ve been worth it.” 

Harry makes a face. “Veronica, please.” 

She shrugs, grins back at him over her shoulder. “Just saying, he’s got a talented mouth —” 

Harry puts his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, humming loudly until Veronica laughs. When he looks back up, she’s gone. He shakes his head, unable to keep from smiling as he turns back to his computer.

—

Harry — somewhat stupidly, he supposes — thinks that’s the end of it. He saw Louis and he talked about it to Veronica and it was kind of terrible and not something he wanted to do, but he did it and now he can move past it. That’s the way life works, right? 

Well, maybe that’s the way everyone else’s life works, but Harry’s the embodiment of Murphy’s Rule, so obviously when he goes home the next weekend to help his mum set up for the party, she tells him last minute that she’s invited the Tomlinson-Deakins and that they’re all coming. Including Louis. 

“I was so excited to hear he’d come to visit,” Anne says, puttering around the kitchen like she hasn’t just shattered Harry’s only remaining sense of security. “He and Gemma used to be such good friends. You never seemed to have a problem with him either,” she adds, throwing him a wink over her shoulder. 

Harry holds back a groan and takes a deep breath instead. “I dunno, Mum,” he says, rubbing at his mouth. “People can change, y’know? He might be an axe murderer.” 

Anne doesn’t even turn around, completely unphased. “Don’t you think if he were an axe murderer he’d be in prison and not visiting his mum?” 

“Not if he hadn’t been caught yet,” Harry argues, because honestly, it’s not like they catch every single axe murderer who murders someone. “And if he hadn’t, he might be lying low somewhere, like his mum’s, yeah?” 

“Harry Styles, go vacuum the carpet like I asked you to ten minutes ago,” she says, instead of answering, which obviously means Harry’s won. “We wouldn’t want our axe murderer thinking we’re animals.” 

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he mutters, half-stomping down the hall to get the vacuum. “Might make us more of a target.” 

“You will be kind to our guests, Harry!” His mum shouts, and Harry makes a face at her. He can be nice. He’s always nice. That’s pretty much the entire problem. 

—

With two hours to go until the party’s set to start, Veronica’s only advice is a wildly unhelpful text message that says: _fuck him and never speak to him again_. 

The fact that Harry wouldn’t mind fucking Louis notwithstanding, it’s completely useless because there’s no way Harry would ever be able to keep from speaking to him. Harry knows how he gets, and he can imagine his teenage crush only getting ten times worse if they fucked, so no. He’s not going there. No matter how many times Veronica suggests it or how good Louis looks. 

The best thing, probably, would be to focus on the terrible things. Just make it so Harry can’t even fathom the idea of fucking him. He’s got to have some sort of flaw. Harry will find it. He will. 

Of course, two and a half hours later when Louis finally walks through the door, he’s holding one of the youngest twins — Ernie, Harry thinks they are, but he can’t see their face so he’s not sure — and looks ridiculously good in his black denim jacket. He’s smiling, laughing and sets the child down on the floor before he scans the room. 

Harry realizes a moment too late that their gazes will meet, and he doesn’t have time to look away before it happens. Louis catches his eye and gives him a once-over that makes Harry take a long drink of his (very alcoholic) eggnog, and one corner of Louis’ mouth lifts in a strange half-smile. 

Letting out a strangled laugh, Harry turns away and vows to ignore him the rest of the night. That’s obviously the only way to go about this. He can’t let Louis think that he has a chance. He can’t let himself start entertaining the idea of giving Louis a chance. Nothing could even happen, really. They’d maybe have a holiday fling and what, Louis would go back to London? Harry’s too old for flings; he wants the next thing he starts with someone to be long-term. It doesn’t have to end in marriage or anything, but he needs to know the other person is in it. He can’t imagine Louis Tomlinson wanting to be in it with him. 

He wanders around for most of the night, ignoring Louis any time he can hear his laugh or see him in his periphery. Harry’s mum’s house isn’t that big, so it happens more frequently than Harry would like, but it’s easy to ignore him so it’s fine. He doesn’t need to insert himself into any of the conversations he overhears, like he might’ve when he was sixteen. He’s fine standing at the fireplace and eating cookies while Louis talks about his job at a tech company and how he’s just been transferred to Manchester. In the kitchen, Harry sticks his head in the fridge and absolutely doesn’t listen when Louis tells Anne that he’s unmarried and has been looking for a long-term relationship for awhile, because he wants to settle down and start a family. And Harry definitely doesn’t pay any attention when he’s rifling around to find Mrs. Herbert’s coat and Louis is just down the hall, telling Gemma how he’s excited to be back in the north because it means he’ll get to spend more time with his family. 

Harry steadfastly ignores it all, and if he shoves the coat at Mrs. Herbert a bit rougher than he intends to and stomps up the stairs, well. It’s probably Louis’ fault. 

—

A soft knock at Harry’s door pulls his attention from the book he’d pulled off his shelf and started reading. It’s probably his mum knocking, having traipsed up the stairs to tell him to get his bum back down to the party, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s been down there long enough. 

“Go away, mum,” he says, looking back to his book. 

“Um,” Louis’ voice filters through the door and Harry sits up, the book falling to his lap. “Not your mum.” 

Harry crosses the room and opens the door, brow furrowing at the sight of Louis in front of him. Why won’t he just leave him alone? Is it not enough that he’s been in Harry’s space all day? He honestly has to follow him to the only place he can be alone? 

“What do you want?” he asks, trying to look annoyed. It probably doesn’t work, judging from how Louis’ mouth twitches. Harry’s always had difficulty being stern. 

Louis scratches the back of his neck. “I was looking for the loo,” he says, and Harry has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. 

He leans out the doorway and points down the hall. “Over there. The open door,” he says, giving Louis a tight smile. 

“Huh,” Louis says, looking down where Harry’s pointing. “You’re right. There it is.” He turns back to Harry, taking a step closer, pushing into Harry’s space before he can step back. “It can wait, I suppose. We should talk.” 

No. No no no. Talking is not what Harry wants to do. If he were braver or stronger or more of a jerk, he’d shove Louis out of the room and close the door. He has manners, though, and having Louis’ attention is still stupidly enthralling. 

“Talk about what,” is what he says instead, crossing his arms over his chest. Louis changes then, his expression shifting into something soft. 

“I wanted to apologize for how I acted the other night,” he says, “I didn’t — I didn’t recognize you when I saw you, and I’d had a few drinks, which always makes me a bit sloppy, so I’m sorry if I was inappropriate or made you uncomfortable.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, relaxing a bit. That wasn’t so bad. That was actually…pretty nice of him. Harry’s found that people tend not to talk responsibility for their actions, and while he’s used to it — especially in terms of him getting fucked over and no one apologizing for it — it’s nice to hear someone acknowledge his feelings. 

God, he’s got to stop thinking about _feelings_ and Louis in such close proximity. It’s too dangerous.

“Thank you,” he says. “For apologizing. I um, it was fine. I suppose I was just surprised.” 

Louis tilts his head. “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

Harry’s face burns red. Maybe Louis doesn’t remember. Maybe Harry had been seeing things when he left the pub the other night, or maybe Louis had been too drunk to remember that he remembered. No, he’s just said he didn’t recognize Harry at first. That implies that he recognized him eventually, right? “Because you — Because I recognized you. Right away.” 

Louis looks at him silently for a moment, his eyes searching Harry’s face for something. Harry’s not sure what it is, but Louis apparently doesn’t find it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, “I don’t — You’re Gemma’s brother, I know. But I can’t — I can’t place you.” 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest again and looks away, disappointment stinging bitterly in his chest. This is why he hadn’t wanted to talk to him. This is why it would’ve just been better to ignore him. 

“Probably better that way,” he says, trying to make it light. His voice cracks, though, so he definitely fails. He clears his throat and tries again. “I mean, I was like, sixteen, had that terrible hair and wouldn’t shut up. Less embarrassing if you don’t remember, really.” 

“Wait,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s arm so suddenly that he jumps a bit. “Sorry,” Louis says, but doesn’t let go. “Youth club?” 

Emotion washes through Harry, too many for him to identify and feel at once. What he’s left with is feeling a bit like he’s going to be sick. Is it better for Louis to remember or not? Harry still doesn’t know. 

“Yeah,” Harry says with a nod. “Like, once a week at the youth centre. You were always like, off in a corner talking to people and I was always butting in or being obnoxious and hoping you’d notice me.” He tries to laugh but it comes out strangled again. This has got to be the most he’s ever embarrassed himself, including all those times in youth club. 

“I remember you,” Louis says, staring at Harry’s face again. “I don’t remember you being obnoxious, but I remember you.” 

Harry looks away, face burning again and doesn’t say anything. 

“I was a shit back then too,” Louis says softly. “So I’m sure I — I was probably terrible to you, so I’m sorry about that, too. Teenage me was definitely a twat.” 

Harry shifts uncomfortably, shrugging. Again, it’s nice to hear Louis apologize, but Harry can’t help feel a bit like he’s whinging, like he’s just harping on something he can’t let go. He _can_ let it go, he was actually fine about it until Louis showed up again. Now it’s a big deal. He’s made it a big deal and now Louis is awkwardly apologizing to him and it’s all very stupid. Harry would rather just be done with all of this. 

“Thanks,” he says, “But it’s fine, right? It’s the past.” 

“Right,” Louis agrees, and then they don’t say anything. Harry looks around the room for a few moments, arms still crossed over his chest. He doesn’t know what Louis’ waiting for. They’re done talking, obviously. Doesn’t he need to go to the bathroom? 

“So you had a crush on me,” Louis says, before Harry can bring up the loo. He closes his eyes and groans, covering his face as Louis laughs. It’s clearly good-natured and not mean, so it’s not as terribly embarrassing.  
“I did,” he says, “Against my better judgement.” 

“Oi,” Louis complains, putting his hands on his hips. “No need to be rude. I was only going to say that you were pretty cute back then.” 

“Oh god,” Harry says, putting his hands over his face again. “Shut up.” 

“I won’t.” Louis tugs at his wrists until he drops them from his face. Harry’s breath catches when Louis touches his cheek gently, almost reverent. “It’s nothing to how beautiful you are now. But back then wasn’t so bad.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and pulling away. “You’re still just trying to get in my pants.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, unabashedly. “So why don’t you let me take you out?” 

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “What happened to settling down and starting a family?” 

“That’s moving a bit fast, but we could work it in, probably,” Louis says with a grin and Harry rolls his eyes. “I was serious about that,” Louis says, taking a step closer, all traces of joking gone from his voice. “About finding someone long-term. Starts with a date though, doesn’t it?” 

Harry releases a shaky breath. On one hand, it seems like they’re going from zero to sixty; Harry feels a bit like he’s got whiplash. Wasn’t it just this morning that he was determined to ignore Louis? Could he really change his mind this quickly? He’s not sure if it’s the best choice to go straight into a relationship with a boy he’s been hung up over for so long. It seems reckless. 

On the other hand, though, it feels a bit like everything Harry’s ever wanted, and he’d feel stupid if he said no and lost the chance. He’s got to try, hasn’t he? Maybe that’s the overeager teenager in him still, brought back to life by Louis calling him cute, but Harry’s got to try. He’s got to. 

“Suppose it does,” he says, and Louis grins. 

—

Louis picks him up two days after Christmas in his mum’s Volvo, looking as fit as ever in that same black jacket. He smiles when Harry opens the door, laughing when Harry hurries him along before his mum or Gemma can come out and harass them. 

“They’ve been terrible,” he says, scurrying to the car. He throws open the door and flops into the seat, glaring at his mum and sister who’re waving at them through the window. He flips them the bird, sticking out his tongue when they laugh at him. 

“And here I thought the Styles family was mature and thoughtful,” Louis says, sliding into the car. Harry rolls his eyes at him and doesn’t bother responding. 

“Where are we going?” he asks instead, 

“You’ll see,” Louis responds, and pulls out of the drive. 

They end up at an Italian restaurant that’s well-known as the ‘first date place’. Except usually it’s not adults going on their first date there. It’s kids. Harry’s hesitant to go in because he doesn’t really want to spend the night with obnoxious teenagers, but when they get to the door he can see that it’s mostly empty. All the kids must’ve found a new place, or something. 

“After you,” Louis says, opening the door for him. Harry flushes and pretends he isn’t. 

They’re seated near the back, across from each other in a private booth. Harry stretches his legs out and accidentally kicks Louis’ feet, but when he tries to pull back and apologize, Louis hooks a foot around his ankle and grins at him. They sit like that as they look at the menu and as they order, and as they get to know each other for real. Harry learns that Louis is a developer at a social media startup, something about blogging and file sharing that Harry doesn’t really understand from Louis’ excited ramblings. It’s nice enough just to listen, though, and the site itself sounds interesting, even if Harry doesn’t know the point of it. Louis talks about his family next, and then Harry tells him a bit about his own life and how he works with Veronica in a pretty important marketing firm. 

“So you do ad campaigns?” Louis asks, taking a sip of his water, and Harry shakes his head. 

“No, just the like, financial stuff. S’kind of boring, really,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. 

Louis tilts his head at him. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah,” Harry answers. “I love it.” 

Louis shrugs. “Then that’s all that matters.” 

Their food comes and they dig in, spending the rest of the evening reminiscing about how dumb the activities they had to do in youth club were and how the only reason either of them really stayed was the charity stuff. Harry remembers watching Louis with the kids they would visit at the primary schools, and he remembers how it would tug at his heart to see him being so sweet. He’s sure it’d do the same to see today. Hell, it might even be worse. 

They get dessert at an ice cream shop just down the block and then walk with them, leaving Louis’ mum’s car in front of the restaurant. It should be okay for a few hours. Hopefully. 

“Oh my god,” Louis says as they round the corner. There’s a park just across the street, deserted now that the sun’s gone down. “I used to being my sisters here all the time,” he says, and dumps his ice cream in a bin before looking both ways and bolting across the street. Harry scrambles to follow, thankful that there aren’t many people out. 

The town’s strung up fairy lights for Christmas, so while it should be dark on the playground, there’s a pleasant glow from the lights around the power lines. Louis has taken a seat on a swing and keeps looking around the place like he can’t believe it exists. Harry sits down next to him, wrapping his hands around the cold chain. 

“This place was important to you?” 

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, just glances around more and more. “We used to come here a lot,” he says eventually, not looking at Harry. “Me and my sisters. I would bring them when the fighting got to be too much, with my mum and Mark. It was —“ He shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. “They would say terrible things, you know? I didn’t want my sisters hearing it.” 

Harry knows Jay’s divorced — the whole town does, what with how they were all invited to her most recent wedding — but he supposes he never realized that must’ve been happening when Louis was a teenager. He’s pretty sure they got divorced around the time Louis left, because the girls started coming to youth club more frequently. Harry thinks about his own parents’ divorce, how angry they were most of the time and how he always felt like he just needed to fix it and it’d be okay again. Obviously he’d been wrong, but still, feeling that helpless had made him sad and frustrated, and he can only imagine how he might’ve acted out if he were older. If he were eighteen instead of ten. 

Tentatively, Harry reaches out, pulls Louis’ hand from the chain of his swing and tangles their fingers together. They sit in silence for a bit, until it gets too cold to stay outside and they have to go back to the car. 

Harry doesn’t let go of Louis’ hand, and Louis doesn’t try to move away. 

—

On the way back to Harry’s house, Louis pulls off on a side road that leads to a deserted overlook. They can see half the neighborhood out of the windshield, but Harry can’t concentrate on how pretty the view is.

“You’re still trying to get in, aren’t you?” he asks, laughing despite himself. Louis grins, unashamed, and nods. 

“Why wouldn’t I? Have you seen yourself?” 

Harry flushes and tries to look away, but Louis catches him with a gentle hand on his chin. 

“Look at me, love,” he says softly, smiling when Harry meets his gaze. “I mean it. You're beautiful. Is it alright if I kiss you?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says, but leans down to kiss him anyway. He wishes he weren’t twisting awkwardly at the waist, and that the safety belt weren’t digging into his neck, but Louis’ mouth is soft and sweet under his, and his hands feel good where they’ve sneaked up into Harry’s curls. 

Harry pulls away for a breath, resting his forehead against Louis’. 

“Alright?” Louis asks, sounding as breathless as Harry feels. 

“Yeah,” he says, and kisses him again. 

—

_one year later_

“Have you got the stocking stuffers?” 

Louis is standing in the doorway of the room they use for Harry’s office — and hope to one day turn into a child’s bedroom, but that’s neither here nor there, really — his hands on his hips and looking adorably ruffled. 

“The what?” Harry asks, frowning up at him. Obviously he’s already put the stocking stuffers in the boot of the car when Louis asked him to twenty minutes ago, but Louis’ also been double and triple checking every single thing Harry’s been doing since yesterday morning, so he’s maybe going to get him back a little bit. Not much. Just a little. 

“The stocking stuffers, Haz,” Louis says, exasperated and looking up at the ceiling as if he’s trying to speak with God. Harry swallows a laugh. 

“Which ones?” he says instead, and Louis looks down at him so sharply there’s no way his neck didn’t twinge. 

“Harold Styles —“ he starts, but Harry cuts him off with a laugh. He’s got the worst poker face, especially when it comes to Louis. 

“They’re in the boot,” he says, rolling his eyes fondly when Louis slumps in relief. “Hey, c’mere,” he says, waggling his fingers until Louis walks over. Harry gets an arm around his waist and hauls him onto his lap, hugging him close. Louis resists for a moment, but eventually wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulder, sighing into the crook of his neck. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m being a twat, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Harry responds, rubbing a hand over his back. “Thank you for apologizing, but it’s alright.” He pauses, letting Louis relax for a moment before teasing again. “You do know I’ve already met your family, right?” 

He gets a pinch to the side for his trouble, but it makes him laugh. 

“I just want everything to be perfect,” Louis grumbles, sliding off Harry’s lap and slouching away. It makes Harry feel a bit bad, but not really bad enough to do anything about it. Well, okay, yes, fine, he hates it when Louis pouts. 

Harry gets out of his chair and follows him down the corridor, wrapping him up in a hug from behind and kissing the side of his head. 

“I love you,” he says, murmuring it into Louis’ ear. “They know that. It’ll be perfect no matter what happens.” 

Louis puts his hands over Harry’s and leans back into him, resting his head on his shoulder. “I love you too,” he says, “but I disagree. It could very well be a disaster.” 

“I expect nothing less, honestly,” Harry responds, tightening his hold on Louis before he protests. “That’s what makes it perfect.” 

Louis gives another sigh and turns around in Harry’s arms. “You’re so great it’s almost stupid, y’know,” he says conversationally as he puts his arms around Harry’s neck. 

“I’ve heard,” Harry says, grinning down at him, smiling even wider when Louis goes up on his toes for a kiss. Harry kisses back gladly, letting himself slip into it easily. 

“I’m glad you hit on me in a bar and didn’t remember who I was,” Harry says when they pull apart. 

“So am I,” Louis says, and then pauses. “Wait, who are you again?” 

Harry rolls his eyes, “Shut up,” he says, and kisses Louis again. 

Louis kisses back, just like always.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://jessimond.tumblr.com) if you need me.


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